


Ribbons of Wind

by CloudDreamer



Series: Theater of Tragicomedy [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Second person POV, trans rights baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: You are the breeze, and you are only as defined as you want to be.





	Ribbons of Wind

You sit atop a cliff, wind in between your fingers. It is flexible at your touch, like putty. You don’t need to inhale, but you do out of habit, and when you do, you feel light. You could turn this relaxed slump against the cold stone into a crouch and then into a leap, and you’d be flying. 

Your black hair grows out behind you, floating up and down in the breeze that always follows you. _Not too long,_ you think, and it stops. You didn’t realize how easy it was to shape your body until you tried. (More accurately, until Terezi and Vriska dragged you aside by the collar of your old ratty shirt to show you, because once they’d gotten you started, you couldn’t stop.)

It’s bright blue outside. Perfect weather. It’s always perfect here. You’ve felt out of place for so long, you never stopped to wonder if maybe the problem was with you instead of with the world.

Now you breathe, hands cupped around your mouth, and the wind follows. Clouds dispel and reform, puffy and light or thick and stormy. In a moment, you are the sky. You are not the stars, burning so bright but so alone, and you are not the space between them, vast in your beauty and incomprehensibility. You are the ribbons of breath soaring from person to person, giving life without being it. 

You are untouchable. Untraceable. Unbound.

There is a name on your lips, and that name is written in the sky, clouds pushed gently to and fro by your soft request. It is an introduction. You are a god on this Earth, but you’ve never understood what that meant. It’s not about ruling, like Karkat said once, in an awkward conversation years ago, or like Jane believes without articulating. It’s not about power at all.

It’s a gentle cold breeze in the summer heat. It’s a warm touch in the icy cold. It’s reassuring those lost that you are there, that they’re not alone. You are the colors in the sunset, and you paint it shades of beauty without a thought.


End file.
